


Touch

by travellinghopefully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just read it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> comments continue to be welcome
> 
> oh and the companion is whoever you would like it to be....

You made two mugs of tea, adding an insane amount of sugar and honey to one, putting the packet of biscuits in your pocket and walked through to the console room with them. 

How was it possible for there to be so much mess? You were certain you had only been asleep for the normal amount of time, and you knew leaving the Doctor unsupervised was always a risk. But...but, how was there this much mess? At least the Tardis was making her usual wheeze hum.

There were cables, plates of partly eaten food, full mugs, empty mugs, glasses, bottles, party streamers (really), centuries worth of dust bunnies, books opened and closed, indeterminate “things” that may or may not be moving, metal shapes, screws, bolts, wrenches, oil and in the midst of everything (wearing that ridiculous optical contraption that wasn’t quite glasses or a nightmare from a futuristic optician) sat the Doctor.

You picked your way through everything and placed the mug of tea next to him, and the packet of biscuits.

He took a swallow, grimaced and said, “Did you add sugar?”

“Yes, and honey and stirred it.”

“OK.” He said, sounding unconvinced, already working his way through the Jammy Dodgers.

“Busy, fixing things, yeah?” And with that, he pointedly ignored me.

I sat behind him and watched his hands as he worked. They were never still. His hands betrayed his restless nature, even when every other part of him was still, his hands still moved. He pushed his hands through his hair, he gestured with his fingers, he worried the edge of his thumb with his teeth, and he fiddled perpetually. The state of the Tardis was probably symptomatic of this, he just couldn’t leave alone and just be. I had to fight the urge to grab his hands and hold them and keep them still and assure him he was safe, that he didn’t have to run.

Moving forward I touched just one of his fingers, tracing the outline from the finely manicured nail (really, it wasn’t entirely fair that his hands looked this good) to the knuckle. I could feel each fine hair, each indentation, imperfection and undulation. I allowed me finger to slide over the palm of his hand, feeling how cool and dry his skin was. He gave a small huff of irritation and shooed my hand away.

I turned my attention to his ear. I breathed lightly against its delicate perfection, softly touching the lobe with my lips

He batted at me as if I was an irritating fly, and growled, “Working.”

He was infuriating. I wanted to use up whole centuries exploring his skin, tasting him, touching him. Leaning closer to him, I could feel his slight warmth and breathe in his unique fragrance : ozone, chalk, whiskey, oranges and time. The desire to nuzzle against the hollow of his neck, to slide my hands under his impossible layers and truly feel him was very compelling. Appeasing myself, I slid my nose against his neck and allowed the tip of my tongue to capture a taste of him and feel his pulses bound.

He turned and shook himself, “Stop trying to distract me.”

So little of him was uncovered, the sleeves of his hoody even extended over his hands. Where to focus my attention next? 

I decided on the nape of his neck where his hair curled perfectly. His hair was delightful now that it was a little longer, making him look even more like a startled, somewhat bedraggled owl.

He didn’t pull away, he could so easily have moved to complete the intricate task. So, I could risk being a little bolder.

Sliding my fingers into the softness of his hair, I allowed my fingers to glide softly and gently against his skin. He didn’t knock my hand away, and I realised he was leaning into my touch. Bringing my second hand to his scalp I continued to gently caress and press my fingers into his flesh, occasionally allowing my nails to just lightly skim his skin.

The Doctor gave up all pretence of working and leant back fully against me, his eyes closed and his forehead for the moment completely relaxed. 

I smiled. Eventually I realised from the deep and even breathing that he was asleep. This wasn’t exactly what I had planned. I kept moving my fingers very gently through his hair and I couldn’t miss the opportunity to press the softest of kisses against the crown of his head. And, I absolutely didn’t whisper, “I love you.”

Contemplating how long you could hold him like this before I started to feel cramp, I leaned back against the Tardis and fell asleep too.


End file.
